Black Tangled Heart
by Elfea goddess of the Sunset
Summary: **Rating subject to change, genres subject to change, character two will be revealed, all in good time...** Anyhoo, that out of the way... This is a tale of a boy named Draco Malfoy, inspired by THE BEST BAND EVER, Silverchair. (Chap 2 subject to change)
1. Maybe Your Luck Has Changed

  
**DISCY CLAIMER (DISCLAIMER):** I own not the world of Harry Potter, nor it's inhabitants or locations. I also do not own any of the lyrics found in this fic. They all belong to Silverchair, the best band ever. The title is also not mine. That belongs to the chair as well.   
Ok, so we got this straight?   
Me no own, so you no sue.   
  
**A/N:** Ok, ok, so I haven't quite completed "operation finish fanfic, but I just couldn't toss this plot idea aside. As any Silverchair fans, or even fans of Australian alternative music would have noticed, this fic was inspired by the Silverchair song "Black Tangled Heart", from their third album, Neon Ballroom. The full song is in the last chapter, but unless I astound myself and everyone else by finishing this fic before I post it, that's not up yet. It's the 8th track on the cd, which costs about $30. If you have any money, like The Chair even slightly and feel like moving, buy it, and buy it now. Right. About the fic. It's a fic based around and about the infamous Draco Malfoy, so if ya doesn't like him, don't read. Oh, and I'm not over fond of Harry, as a warning. I'm not gonna satanise him or anything, I'm just not going to be very nice to him. Ok? Ok.  
In this chapter, well, there's Draco, the twins (yay!), Ol' Scar-face (boooo!) and co (mehh.) aaand… a guest appearance by…. Sirius Black!!! (YAAAY!!!!)   
Sirius is just the COOLEST character. He rocks. I would write a fic about him, he being the best character in the books, but this fic is about Draco, so yes.   
Yes, yes, I know, I know, it's becoming a cliché to include good ol' Padfoot in Draco fics, but I don't care. Sirius rocks, he isn't about to be left out of the first even remoteley decent HP fic I've ever posted, so :p.   
Yes, you're right.   
Silverchair will probably be dragged into the fray as well… but only later.   
  
  
Right. Onward!   
LUV PEACE AND FLYING PURPLE LLAMAS,   
ELFEÄ  
Always remember: Candles are ok as long as you don't fall asleep & your house burns down.   
  
**: : RESPECT THE CHAIR: :**   
  
**::Black Tangled Heart::**  
  
_ Maybe Your Luck Has Changed _  


[ Chapter one ]

Draco waited impatiently as his mother went through her usual ramblings before he went off to Hogwarts for the beginning of the school year. He'd heard it all before – "Just remember that no-one's better than you, honey," or "and you know you're better than that damn Potter boy, don't worry about Quidditch so much," and so on and so forth. This year it was slightly different – he had been made the newest edition to the Slytherin Prefects, after all – but it still went in one ear and out the other.   
It wasn't that Draco didn't love his mother, oh, no, he loved her dearly, but did she have to go _on _like this?   
"Mother, I have to go, I'll miss the train." Draco said as Narcissa went into the complex details of Arithmancy, and what to do if he didn't understand.   
_'Feh. I don't need any help with Arithmancy – I'm doing just fine in it, thankyou very much'._ "Oh, all right Draco. I'll send you an owl in two weeks. I love you, Draco."   
"I love you too mother." He replied, giving his mother a hug and the obligatory kiss on the cheek.   
"And Draco?" Narcissa started as Draco turned towards the Platform,   
"Yes Mother?" Draco turned.   
"Do try to have fun, dear." Her voice had a slight, barely detectable quaver in it.   
Draco paused. He hadn't expected that.   
"Of course I will Mother. Bye."   
With that, he turned and left, pushing his cart before him. "Of course I'll have fun." He muttered. His eagle owl, perched precariously atop his trunk, stared at him knowingly.   
"Oh, quiet, you." He said and placed his cloak over the cage despite the cold.   
  
  
  
***   
  
  
As the burgundy train pulled into the station, Draco barely waited for it to stop before leaping aboard, cloaked and hooded so that his distinctive platinum coloured hair and flint grey eyes could not be seen. He didn't feel like wasting time with Crabbe and Goyle, telling jokes they wouldn't understand and laughing at theirs – which were never funny.   
He wanted to be alone.   
He glared down at the small first year that sat in the seat that he had intended to make his own.   
The first year shrank back.   
"Move." Draco said in a voice as quiet as death and as cold as Pluto's dark side.   
The first year fled, leaving in such haste that they left behind a small, roundish plastic item with a black chord and two littler round things laying on the seat he had, until Draco's appearance, occupied. Draco, curious, closed the compartment door, shoved his trunk and owl on the opposite seat, and picked up the thing before sitting down, examining it.   
On closer inspection he saw that it had a small glassy thing on the top with the number '12' displayed on it. There were also some buttons – labelled "Volume", "Play", "Stop", "Pause" and "Skip" respectively.   
He seemed to recall hearing of one of these things, it was a Muggle Music-playing thing. Draco reasoned that the little black round things must be what you listened to, and so, because he had nothing better to do, pressed the 'play' button.   
Nothing.   
He leaned down closer to the little black things, and he could hear a faint beat.   
After careful consideration, he decided that perhaps the little black things go _in_ your ears.   
Ah.   
Draco was greeted by a musical concoction, which was dominated by Guitar, Bass and drums, with violin and piano in the background. And singing.   
_'Increase Delete Escape Defeat It's all that matters to you…'_  
Draco decided right then that he quite liked this… music thing, and that perhaps he wouldn't even attempt to return it to it's previous owner.   
Not that he would have anyway.   
Roughly 6 minutes later, Draco was greeted by a song that he liked even more than the last.   
And did he ever agree with the lyrics.   
About halfway into this song, Draco was moshing like there's no tomorrow, and the door to his compartment opened.   
"Why can't you just stop hounding me, Potter, I know you love me but I don't fly on that side of the Quidditch pitch, and even if I did I wouldn't even consider you." Draco bristled.   
"This carriage is taken, Harry, let's go. We don't want to spend any more time with Malfoy than necessary." A female voice from behind Potter said quietly.   
Not Granger, the Mudblood was next to old Scar-face, as was the Weasel.   
Huh. Ginny Weasely.   
"No, certainly don't want to tarnish yourselves by breathing the same air as me," Draco said with all the fluffiness of a Koala*. If his voice had been any more acidic, it'd have burnt a hole in the ozone layer.   
They didn't move.   
Draco administered the infamous Malfoy glare-o-brutal-axe-murder (© the Malfoy clan, 800 BC onwards), and yet there was still no movement.   
  
  
"Malfoy, are you listening to a Muggle Discman?" Granger said in disbelif.   
"Yes. And It's bloody good. Now piss off." Draco retorted.   
"Isn't that below your' fascist Malfoy honour?" Granger asked, obviously dumbstruck.   
"Not If I like it. You probably wouldn't though, you have no taste in anything whatsoever, judging by the way you've done your hair, appalling, that, and the more obvious statement of stupidity – hanging around people like Potter and Weasley. Now go away, I'm trying to listen to music. There are plenty other carriages on the train." Draco turned and faced the window, as a fourth song came on, which was very loud, but deeply, deeply cool.   
_'These are the facts, so eat what you murder  
this is animal liberation  
eight billion killed for human pleasure!'   
_ Struck dumb, Potter and co left the carriage.   
  
  
  
***  
  
  
"Is it just me, or was Malfoy being remotely civil?" Hermione said as the group sat down.   
"I believe so." Ginny replied.   
"It's starting." Ron groaned.   
"What is?" Harry asked, a lopsided grin on his face.   
"The Apocalypse."   
  
  
  
***   
  
  
On that train ride to Hogwarts, Draco did more emotional thinking than he'd ever done in one session in his life before.   
The music he'd found was obviously written by a deity among musicians – the diversity contained in it, and the raw emotion behind the music and lyrics were unlike anything he'd heard before.   
He vowed never ever to listen to "The Wyrd Sisters" again.   
  
  
Maybe he'd be more civil to the mudblood, er, Muggle born members of the school from now on – he wanted to know who these people were.   
  
In the proper Malfoy fashion, of course.   
  
  
  
***   
  
  
"Quickly, this way, hurry up, oi, you, if you don't hurry up I'll feed you to the giant squid that lives in the lake, don't think I won't – you there, you're going the wrong way, you're a Slytherin, you stupid sod, not a bloody Hufflepuff, follow me, the common room is this way, if you get lost there's a good chance you'll never find your way back, would you stop talking, this is important…." Being a Prefect, Draco concluded, was more fun than he'd originally thought it would be. And Pansy Parkinson had not once tried to suggest that she still thought he loved her – the day just kept getting better and better as it progressed.   
  
"Ah, the infamous Slytherin dungeon, watch your step, there's a spike trap on that flagstone, just kidding, geez, can't you kids take a joke?" He stared around at the new Slytherins in disbelif.   
"Alright, this part is very important, so listen, hey you, yes you, if you don't shut up you can figure out how to get into the common room and without being told, trust me, you'll be sleeping in the corridor with the _polterglist_ for the whole year, you have to say the password. DON'T TELL ANYONE FROM OTHER HOUSES THE PASSWORD. The password this month is nice and easy for you ickle firsties to remember – Salazar."   
The tunnel into the dimly lit common room opened.   
"Welcome to the stronghold, the keep, the essence of Slytherin house, and your' personal abodes for the next seven years of your lives, so you'd better like it. First year boys, your dorms are that way, First year girls, that way. Go now." Draco turned and went to his own dorm, quite pleased with himself.   
  
  
  
***   
  
  
Draco stretched as he awoke, yawning loudly despite the ridiculously early hour he knew it was, and regardless of the other sleepers in the room.   
Hey, he was a Malfoy – he could do whatever he wanted.   
Bloody hell, why, oh why, couldn't he sleep in like a normal person? Why?   
Stupid upbringing.  
Walking over to his trunk (Draco had successfully dominated about half of the room – the other boys were forced to live within the other half.   
He would never have gotten away with it had he been anyone but Draco Malfoy.   
In fact, if Draco had been born as anyone other than a Malfoy, he'd be dead by now.), he sat down and rifled through the morass of black in his wardrobe. (Located next to the trunk, silly.)   
Not that he minded black.   
Quite the contrary – black was his colour. Black had existed all those years before his birth specifically so that one day he might take it on as his signature colour, even if black wasn't technically a colour.   
Black clothing was invented for this Malfoy to wear, or so it would seem.   
Needless to say, Draco looked good in black.   
That would have been bad enough for the other members of the human race.   
What's worse, Draco knew he looked good in black.   
Almost nothing is more smug, more arrogant (yet strangely irresistible) than a Malfoy well aware of his (or her) near aesthetic perfection.   
In fact, several Malfoys have managed to convince dragons that they are better looking than them. (To all those who don't know, this is near impossible.)   
And woe betide any who disagree with this Malfoy.   
Changing into jet black jeans and an equally sable shirt, Draco looked in the mirror for a second (just to check – better safe than sorry) and was greeted by "You look fine dear. Up early again I see." In the mirror's wheezy voice.   
Ignoring it, Draco stomped across the room in his massive black boots (which may or may not have been purchased in a muggle army surplus store – what his father didn't know wouldn't hurt him, or, more to the point, Draco), making as much noise as humanly possible.   
Grinning, he slammed the dorm door behind him, grabbing his cloak as he exited.   
  
  
  
A/N: So, whadaya think? Good? Bad? Bleargh? Whatever? Mind Frizzling spectacular? I hope you agree with either the last or first one… lol  
Please review! I've actually got a plot this time, so I'll be posting… more often..   
(Also, sorry if the formatting is a little screwey. It's not my fault.) * Koalas may be cute and cuddly looking, but they're vicious bastards if they're not tame!  
  
P.S. I consider spelling errors to add a certain.. rustic charm to my fics.   
  
That, and I'm too damn lazy to bother using spell check.  
hee  
P.S I won't be posting for about 3 days as I am going on a camp. I'll try to have the next chap ready by then! 


	2. Settle Down

DISCY CLAIMER (DISCLAIMER): I own not the world of Harry Potter, nor it's inhabitants or locations. I also do not own any of the lyrics found in this fic. They all belong to Silverchair, the best band ever. The title is also not mine. That belongs to the chair as well.   
Ok, so we got this straight?   
Me no own, so you no sue.   
  
A/N: Helloa! How are we all today? Good? Good. Thanks for all your great reviews! (*through teeth* Tab, that was supposed to be a secret!)  
Anyhoo, here's the next chapter, only a few days late, sorry!!!  
  
Also, thanks to Ish for helping me create… The Plot!!! Wee! Yes! This fic has an official plot!!!  
LUV PEACE AND FLYING PURPLE LLAMAS,   
ELFEÄ  
Always remember: Keep your llamas nice and shiny. Otherwise they won't fly straight..  
  
: : RESPECT THE CHAIR: :   
  
**::Black Tangled Heart::**  
  
_ Settle Down _  


[ Chapter two ]

As Draco swept into the great hall – swept, not walked, Malfoys are above and beyond making such humble entrances - he scanned the four vast tables for any familiar faces.  
To his surprise, and reflex-induced disgust, he did.  
Granger.  
Her mass of hair, untied, completely screened her face from view as she sat, engrossed in some book, mug of coffee steaming next to her.

  
Bloody typical.  
And Draco had tried so very hard to be the first to begin studying for the end of year exams. Stupid, interfering, know-it-all Mudblood.  


After a moments consideration, he sat down next to her and took a swig of the coffee, all in one swift movement.  


"Not bad. Needs a bit of sugar, though." Draco said critically as he calmly replaced the mug.  


Granger froze. Well, not so much froze as ceased to read.  


She looked up and turned.  


"Morning, Granger. Thanks for the coffee."  


"Malfoy!" Granger gaped, midway between rage and surprise, shock.  


"That's my name, don't wear it out." Draco chirped, irrationally happy (and clichéd) due to the caffeine he'd just consumed. (Draco's happiness, however, may have been brought on by his fiendish love for a good argument.)  


Feeling that something needed to be done, Draco proceeded to put his feet on the table. Loudly.  


Granger stared at Draco, too shocked for a few seconds to react.  


Then, slowly, then gaining speed like a large bovine from an airborne craft, that shock gave way to rage.  
"MALFOY! Get your dirty, stinking feet off of MY BOOKS!!" She shrieked, hair seeming to become more bushy and wild in her wrath.  


From the word "filthy", all humour left Draco's face.  
With eyes the colour of steel, or the sea in a black squall, he whispered  
"You're calling me filthy? Reality check, _mudblood_."  
With that he rose, deliberately knocking the coffee cup over as he did so, and stalked off to the Slytherin table.  


"Oh, no you don't, Malfoy, you half-baked, pretentious… SCUM!!!"_Petrificus Partialus!_" Granger shrieked, rage gathering speed and momentum. Like a raging Hippogriff, it would keep on running until it crashed into something.  
Draco sighed, and twisted, feet stuck to the floor.  
"Fine, play it like that. But I thought you Gryffindors had enough calibre and chivalry at least to challenge their foes to a duel!"  
Granger paused.  
"Surprising you can pronounce words like chivalry, Malfoy." She retorted.  
Draco turned. "Is that the best you can do?" His tone indicated boredom. A handsome achievement, considering how… irked he was at the time.  
"Oh, I'm only just warming up."  
"Really? That's interesting. Too bad you won't get to finish up! _Reducio!_"  
Instantly, Hermione began to shrink, until a tiny, irate, action – figure sized girl glared up at him.   
"You're just lucky my clothes shrank too, Malfoy!" She squeaked.  
"I'll get you for this! Change me back! Change me back now!" She stomped a tiny foot.  
"Not until you let me go, Granger." Draco smiled. Granger really did look funny, trying to be all angry and intimidating at 6 ½ inches tall.  
"Fine!" Granger huffed, muttering the counter-curse. Draco was freed.  
"Thanks, Granger." Draco smiled as he walked off.  
"MALFOY!" Granger shrieked in her tiny voice.  
Draco turned. "You called?"  
"CHANGE ME BACK!"  
Draco winced. It was interesting that someone with lungs currently so tiny could make that much noise.  
"All right, all right. Don't get your robes in a twist…" Draco muttered '_Engorgio_', thus returning Hermione to her proper size.  
She promptly walked over to him, slapped him hard across the face, and stormed off.  
" I love you too, Granger!" He called to her retreating back.  
  
  
**A/N:** So, how goes it? Sorry for the delay, and for the shortness of this chapter, also… more soon, I promise! Please review! 


	3. Settle Down new ending of chapter

DISCY CLAIMER (DISCLAIMER): I own not the world of Harry Potter, nor it's inhabitants or locations. I also do not own any of the lyrics found in this fic. They all belong to Silverchair, the best band ever. The title is also not mine. That belongs to the chair as well.   
Ok, so we got this straight?   
Me no own, so you no sue.   
  
A/N: Helloa! How are we all today? Good? Good. Thanks for all your great reviews! (*through teeth* Tab, that was supposed to be a secret!)  
Anyhoo, here's the next chapter, only a few days late, sorry!!!  
  
Also, thanks to Ish for helping me create… The Plot!!! Wee! Yes! This fic has an official plot!!!  
LUV PEACE AND FLYING PURPLE LLAMAS,   
ELFEÄ  
Always remember: Keep your llamas nice and shiny. Otherwise they won't fly straight..  
  
: : RESPECT THE CHAIR: :   
  
**::Black Tangled Heart::**  
  
_ Settle Down _  


[ Chapter two ]

As Draco swept into the great hall – swept, not walked, Malfoys are above and beyond making such humble entrances - he scanned the four vast tables for any familiar faces.  
To his surprise, and reflex-induced disgust, he did.  
Granger.  
Her mass of hair, untied, completely screened her face from view as she sat, engrossed in some book, mug of coffee steaming next to her.

  
Bloody typical.  
And Draco had tried so very hard to be the first to begin studying for the end of year exams. Stupid, interfering, know-it-all Mudblood.  


After a moments consideration, he sat down next to her and took a swig of the coffee, all in one swift movement.  


"Not bad. Needs a bit of sugar, though." Draco said critically as he calmly replaced the mug.  


Granger froze. Well, not so much froze as ceased to read.  


She looked up and turned.  


"Morning, Granger. Thanks for the coffee."  


"Malfoy!" Granger gaped, midway between rage and surprise, shock.  


"That's my name, don't wear it out." Draco chirped, irrationally happy (and clichéd) due to the caffeine he'd just consumed. (Draco's happiness, however, may have been brought on by his fiendish love for a good argument.)  


Feeling that something needed to be done, Draco proceeded to put his feet on the table. Loudly.  


Granger stared at Draco, too shocked for a few seconds to react.  


Then, slowly, then gaining speed like a large bovine from an airborne craft, that shock gave way to rage.  
"MALFOY! Get your dirty, stinking feet off of MY BOOKS!!" She shrieked, hair seeming to become more bushy and wild in her wrath.  


From the word "filthy", all humour left Draco's face.  
With eyes the colour of steel, or the sea in a black squall, he whispered  
"You're calling me filthy? Reality check, _mudblood_."  
With that he rose, deliberately knocking the coffee cup over as he did so, and stalked off to the Slytherin table.  


"Oh, no you don't, Malfoy, you half-baked, pretentious… SCUM!!!"_Petrificus Partialus!_" Granger shrieked, rage gathering speed and momentum. Like a raging Hippogriff, it would keep on running until it crashed into something.  
Draco sighed, and twisted, feet stuck to the floor.  
"Fine, play it like that. But I thought you Gryffindors had enough calibre and chivalry at least to challenge their foes to a duel!"  
Granger paused.  
"Surprising you can pronounce words like chivalry, Malfoy." She retorted.  
Draco turned. "Is that the best you can do?" His tone indicated boredom. A handsome achievement, considering how… irked he was at the time.  
"Oh, I'm only just warming up."  
"Really? That's interesting. Too bad you won't get to finish up! _Reducio!_"  
Instantly, Hermione began to shrink, until a tiny, irate, action – figure sized girl glared up at him.   
"You're just lucky my clothes shrank too, Malfoy!" She squeaked.  
"I'll get you for this! Change me back! Change me back now!" She stomped a tiny foot.  
"Not until you let me go, Granger." Draco smiled. Granger really did look funny, trying to be all angry and intimidating at 6 ½ inches tall.  
"Fine!" Granger huffed, muttering the counter-curse. Draco was freed.  
"Thanks, Granger." Draco smiled as he walked off.  
"MALFOY!" Granger shrieked in her tiny voice.  
Draco turned. "You called?"  
"CHANGE ME BACK!"  
Draco winced. It was interesting that someone with lungs currently so tiny could make that much noise.  
"All right, all right. Don't get your robes in a twist…" Draco muttered '_Engorgio_', thus returning Hermione to her proper size.  
She promptly walked over to him, slapped him hard across the face, and stormed off.  
" I love you too, Granger!" He called to her retreating back.  
  
Draco sighed. That girl, he reasoned, was almost a complete oxymoron.  
"How can someone obviously at least marginally intelligent be friends with people like Potter and Weasley? It just doesn't make sense.." He muttered, before gliding off to the Slytherin table, taking a seat at the backmost corner.  
He called on a House Elf, ordering a coffee; "And don't forget the sugar!!", pulled out a textbook ("_Transfiguration for advanced students, revised (Now in colour)_"), opened to the chapter he had a strong inkling would be in the end-of-year exams ("_Magical Improvisations – turn skinks into lesser Dragonettes, and so on_"), and, after a quick, furtive glance around the hall, he pulled out the muggle music-playing thing, and pressed "play."  
Nothing.  
Draco shook the muggle music playing thing.  
No response.  
Then, he remembered.  
Muggle machines won't work on Hogwarts grounds.  
Cursing, Draco searched for something, he knew not what, until he found a button labled "open". Cautiously, he pressed it, holding the machine at arms length. (Draco had, after all, been born and raised in a magical world, where pressing buttons with even slightly slightly obscure meanings can have painful circumstances.)  
The thing opened, innocently sitting in Draco's hand.  
He inspected it. A round, flat disk with a black face and two pink outlines of dancing people on it stared up at him.  
Well, being a muggle thing, maybe stared is an inaccurate term.  
After a few minutes of cautious experimentation, Draco removed the disk, and inspected the inside of the music thing.  


**thirty minutes later**  


"Aha!" Draco cried, triumphant. He continued.  
"The music-thing uses a laser to read little bumps on the bottom side of this round thingy, and then transfers it to sound! I can do that with magic!" He shook a fist at the air, and stared at the ceiling. "You can't beat me, Hogwarts! I can still listen to muggle music, ha, hahaha!"  
His voice rang out through the hall.   
Somewhere, for comedy's sake, a cricket chirped.  
Draco blinked, and looked around self consciously. The hall was empty, save the presence of himself. It was, after all, still only 5:20 am.  
Draco sighed inwardly with relief. (Malfoys do not talk to ceilings)  
He placed the disk-thing on his outstretched right palm, and with his free hand (left), he grabbed his wand.  
"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" He muttered, raising the disk a few centimetres from his palm.  
"Please let this work, and have no horrible and disfiguring side-affects," Draco whispered, "_Laserium Materialus_! Right… that seems to have worked." The disk spun silently.   
"Now for the final phase… "_Sonorus._"  
Music could be heard throughout the hall. Draco grinned, and carefully placed his hand on the table, fingers outstretched. For it to work, the disk had to be close to his hand throughout the playing time.  
A song that he had decided was almost his undisputed faveourite came on, about half an hour into this listening/studying exercise.  
Draco decided, as no-one else was there, he would sing along… after all… he wasn't that bad a singer, was he?  
"_Take the rope to my heart  
And fall  
You may just be the last  
To see the Black Tangled Heart  
Faaaalll!!!"_  
As the closing lines of the song rang out through the hall, Draco decided, what the heck, it was time to mosh.  
"Having fun, master Malfoy?" A quiet voice came from behind Draco.  
Draco froze.  
"Professor Dumbledore?"  
"The one and only." The Professor smiled.  
"I see you have discovered the work of Silverchair. If you don't mind my asking, Draco, where did you get this CD? I somehow find the image of the Malfoy family in muggle London." Dumbledore paused. "It seems a highly unlikely thing to occour." He shrugged. "And this CD probably isn't available in most music stores there." He finished, taking a bite out of an apple that hadn't been there moments before.  
"CD, sir?" Draco asked, trying to steer the conversation away from how Draco obtained this… CD.  
"Compact Disk. A rather precise muggle name for the thing." He looked over Draco's shoulder. "Studying already I see?"  
"Yes sir."   
"Good to see an enthusiastic student."  
"I'm going to beat Granger to the dux of my year group one day, even if it kills me." Draco said with determination.  
Dumbledore laughed. "I see the Slytherin nature of competition runs strong in you, Master Malfoy."  
Draco grinned. "I guess it does, Professor."  
Silence, apart from the music coming from the CD.  
"So… professor… what do you know about… the people who sing this?" Draco asked, remembering that he would probably like to know… not that he'd ever be allowed to buy any of their other stuff… if they had anything else.  
"Hm. Called Silverchair, contempory rock group from Australia… this one's called Neon Ballroom, if I remember rightly. There are three of them, the lead singer and guitarist's name is… Daniel Johns, I believe. Hm. The Drummer is… Ben? Yes, Ben Gillies, and then there's the Bass player… Chris… J something…. Joannou? Interesting group. Quite good."  
"I didn't know you listened to muggle music, Professor." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Maybe they aren't only a muggle band. And I do listen to muggle music. Sometimes. And I like muggle lollies."  
Draco smiled in berwilderment, then remembered something. "Sorry, Professor, but I have to go now, been nice talking to you."  
"Indeed it has, young Master Malfoy. Quidditch practice?" He finished with a raised eyebrow.  
"Yeah. If I can ever get the team up, the lazy buggers… er… people."  
Dumbledore laughed. "You'd better hurry, then, Draco."   
"Right-o. See you, Professor."  
Dumblefore chuckled, and watched as the tall teen ran off, books, coffee, and CD stuff clutched in one hand and one arm.  
In a few minutes, he heard, faintly, "Get your asses into gear! Do you want Gryffindor to win the cup again?!"  
Laughing, Dumbledore walked off to his office, preparing to start the day.  
  
  
**A/N:** So, how goes it? As some of you may be able to tell, I added quite a bit onto the end of the chapter… I'm enjoying writing this ^_^ so the next chap should be up in… no more than a week. Ok? Ok. Please review, and thanks to all who have!   
In the words of Ben (Revered Drummer);  
Have fun, stay safe and be funky!  
Meghan, Sovereign Llama, out ^_-. 


	4. Maybe I'm just Deranged

Maybe I'm Just Deranged   
  
[chapter 3]  
  
"Goyle! You call that a hit?! You expect to win the Quidditch cup acting like a fairy?!" Draco bellowed as Goyle hit a flying bludger with a hit hard enough to dent iron. Draco didn't care that Goyle's form in the game was nearing perfection – Draco knew Goyle. If he let him know that he was doing well, he wouldn't bother, his game would slip, and Slytherin would loose the Quidditch cup to Gryffindor again. Well, that wouldn't happen if Draco had a say in the matter, and he did, now he was captain.  
  
The only trouble Draco had in his mind was Potter.  
  
Harry bloody Potter was captain of the Gryffindor team.  
  
This presented a problem.  
  
As much as Draco hated to admit it – even in the privacy of his mind – Potter was a brilliant Quidditch player. Also brilliant at strategy. He knew Draco's team. And every bloody player on it. Even him.  
  
Thankfully, Draco did know that the only thing that made Potter a better player than him was his Firebolt.  
  
Unfortunately for Draco, his father wouldn't buy him one until he beat Potter.  
  
Draco sighed.  
  
It would be no easy task.   
  
Draco kicked off the smooth, flat grass of the pitch, soaring into the air. Flying always had somewhat of a therapeutic affect on Draco.  
  
He loved the freedom of flight.  
  
He flew around, practising his own flying techniques.  
  
The sun was rising.  
  
And, a thought that caused so much shock to him that he almost fell off his broom entered his mind.  
  
He wondered if Granger liked sunrises.  
  
"Why the bloody hell did I think that?"  
  
***  
  
"Why so glum today, Master Malfoy?" Came the voice of Professor Snape. Draco turned to face him.  
  
"I've been expelled from the hair club. I overdid the gel. I'm so depressed!" Draco replied with a completely straight face.  
  
Professor Snape blinked, then chuckled. A rare sound believed by many students to be incapable of being formed by those lips.  
  
"Actually, Sir, I'm worried about the Quidditch match."   
  
The Professor raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"  
  
"Yes. You see, this is my first year as captain. I'd like to make it memorable. Basically, I want to win the Quidditch cup. And to do that, I have to beat Gryffindor. Which means beating Potter to the snitch. Which means flying faster than a firebolt. Without a firebolt. I'm sure you see my problem."  
  
Professor Snape made a quiet noise of understanding.  
  
"I know that the only reason we've been loosing to Gryffindor is that stupid firebolt, Potter's good, but I've been flying for a lot longer than he has, so, I'm fairly confident that I should be able to beat him with a better broom."  
  
"I see."  
  
"And my father won't buy me a firebolt until I beat Potter.   
  
Thus, the problem"  
  
"Have you considered saving up for the broom?"  
  
Draco fixed Snape with a long, steady look.  
  
"Ah."  
  
"And even if I did, father wouldn't let me use it unless…"  
  
"You beat Potter without the firebolt. I know, Draco, you've mentioned that fact at least 7 times in the past half hour."  
  
"Sorry sir. It's just a little frustrating."  
  
Professor Snape smiled. Well, 'Snape-Smiled', that is, scowled a little more lightly, with a barely perceptible light in his eyes. It was a debateable gesture – it was either a good thing or a terrible, terrible omen of horrible horrible things. Possibly death. Draco guessed that, due to the current conversation, it was the former rather than the latter.   
  
"I'm sure you'll figure out something, just don't let it affect your studies, will you."  
  
"No way sir. This year I'm going to beat Granger to dux of the year level, too. Hitting two birds with one stone, in a manner of speaking."  
  
***  
  
"For the next two months, this class will be caring for a lesser shift drake, and studying it for it's powers of transformation. You will be working in pairs, which will be randomly assigned. Each pair will be supplied with the equipment required to care for the drake, and you will be expected to hand in extensive notes at the end of the two month period." Professor Mc Gonagall surveyed the class with her even, stern gaze.  
  
"The pairs, once drawn, are permanent and unalterable, as one of the objectives you will be assessed on includes teamwork. Understood?"  
  
"Yes, professor…" The class mumbled, clearly a bit uneasy about this "random pairing".  
  
Professor McGonagall lifted a simple box onto the table.  
  
Draco raised his hand, traditional Malfoy dubious smirk on his face.  
  
"Yes, master Malfoy?"  
  
"You're drawing our names out of a hat?" Someone to the back of the class – probably Pansy (Draco sighed inwardly) – giggled.  
  
"Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with this method, Malfoy?"  
  
"No Professor. I was just wondering." He smiled sweetly.   
  
"Pansy Patil and Lavender Brown." The two girles squealed and clutched hands. (Draco pitied their poor, hapless charge, a pale blue Drake.)  
  
"Vincent Crabbe and Neville Longbottom." Neville whimpered and Crabbe, predictably, showed no reaction. Draco doubted he'd been paying attention. Another unsuspecting Drake was assigned – this one an almost neon green. Poor thing.  
  
"Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter." The two quietly hissed "yes". Draco rolled his eyes. Their Drake was a rather handsome Orange-brown.  
  
"Hannah Abbot and Seamus Finnigan" Draco zoned out at this point. He didn't really care to listen to the pairs being called out – he didn't care who he was paired with – Goyle would not be an ideal partner, Crabbe, luckily, had been paired off allready and so posed no such threat, and no-one else came close to being considered friends.  
  
"Dean Foster and Blaise Zabini, which means that the last pair is Her-"  
  
Both Draco and Hermione shot to their feet and pointed at the other, almost simultaneously shouting "I'm not working with that!"  
  
"Sit down, the both of you. And I'm afraid you are. Take your Drake and equipment, please."  
  
Draco then decided that his sense of personal dignity would have to take a back seat – he couldn't afford to do poorly in any assessments. So he straightened, calmly took the drake – a deep black colour that seemed to change in different lights – and sat back at his desk. Granger glared at him, and took the equipment, returning to her desk.  
  
"It's usually a requirement of teamwork to be in the same half of the class as your partner, Miss Granger," The Professor fixed Hermione with one of her stern gazes.   
  
"yes, Professor…" Hermione mumbled before taking a seat next to Draco. Potter and Weasley sent her looks of utmost pity from the other side of the class. Draco sent them a jaunty grin and wave.  
  
Weasley responded to this with the infamous one-finger salute.   
  
"Right class, now that that's all in order, I think you should take some time to name your drakes, as there isn't really enough time to do anything else, thanks to Miss Granger and Master Malfoy."  
  
Granger pouted.   
  
Draco grinned.  
  
"I think he's a bit of a Montgomery, don't you, Granger?"  
  
"Montgomery is a disgusting name."  
  
"Well, do you have any ideas?"  
  
Granger harrumphed.   
  
"Fine, then, if you don't have any further ideas, I hereby christen thee," Draco held the little drake aloft and looked it in the eye, "…Mont-"  
  
"Wait, wait, I do have a name, just don't call the poor thing Montgomery," Granger cut Draco off, and, if Draco's eyes didn't betray him, she appeared to be blushing slightly.  
  
"Well, what's this great name?"  
  
"Well, it's, um…"  
  
"Out with it, Granger."  
  
"Benjamin." She finished with ardour.   
  
"Now why was that so hard?" Draco asked while looking at the Drake, who seemed quite happy with the prospect of this name. A rather obvious answer came to Draco's mind.  
  
"OooooOOoh. Granger has a cruuuush," Draco laughed malevolantly, and then realised that his last statement had been rather common and un-Malfoyesque.   
  
"I appologise for that last statement. It is now, officially struck from the record." Draco said to Benjamin.  
  
Draco placed the Drake on the table, where it curled up and watched him and Granger with clever golden eyes.  
  
Granger continued to stare blankly at the front of the class, displeasure all over her face.  
  
"Now Granger, I don't like this arrangement any more than you do, but, we have to think of Benjamin, here, how would you like to be raised in a family like this? Hm? We have to think of the child…." Draco spoke solemnly, while the drake watched the conversation with detached interest.  
  
"Don't talk to me." Granger said through pursed lips.  
  
"Fine. But when our child grows up to be a psychotic axe murderer bringing plague and famine to the world just you remember that I tried to provide him with a happy family life. Just you remember that, Granger."  
  
Soon after that, the Professor declared that the class had ended, and Draco collected his books, put Benjamin on top and swept out of the classroom.  
  
***  
  
Benjamin jumped from Draco's shoulders and onto the foot of his bed, creeping over to sniff inquisitively at the muggle music-playing-thing. Draco unceremoniously dropped his books on the floor ( charm he'd placed on them at the beginning of the year caused them to fall into a perfect pile.), and then flopped onto the bed next to the little drake.  
  
"How did we get stuck with Granger, Benjamin? How? Why me? What have I done?"  
  
The drake watched him with huge eyes, then turned his attention back to the muggle-music thing.  
  
"You know, you're completely right."  
  
The drake looked at him again, unblinking.  
  
"I don't need to worry about her, she's not important. I can do the assignment all by myself."  
  
The drake turned it's head on an angle, snorted, and turned it's attention back to the strange creation on the bed next to it.  
  
"It's interesting, isn't it, Benjamin."  
  
No response from the drake.  
  
"You know, talking to you isn't dissimilar to talking to myself."  
  
The drake pounced on the music-playing thing.   
  
"That, my friend, is an excellent idea." The drake looked at him, questioning. Draco picked up the small animal and looked it squarely in the eye.   
  
"We, are going into muggle London."  
  
The drake tilted it's head to one side.  
  
"Don't question my logic. It was your idea, we're going." With that, Draco grabbed a cloak, 30 galleons and a random bag from the floor.  
  
Before Draco left the room, the vague hint of the thought that perhaps 30 galleons was a stupid amount of money crossed his mind, and was swiftly and violently quashed as his Malfoy blood asserted itself. (Malfoy codex, page 233 – No amount of money is ridiculous unless it is a larger sum than you or another Malfoy can accumulate within 30 minutes)  
  
And with that, he left the room, placing a locking charm on the door. Just because he knew that only he could open it, and that prospect amused him vaguely at that moment in time.  
  
***  
  
"Give me a ticket for that train-thing." The tall woman with a severe nose, wearing an immaculate suit looked back at him from behind the counter.   
  
"You have charming manners. It's $3.50 a ticket."  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow at the evident sarcasm, but decided that it would be prudent to hold his tongue. He got out the small fiddly coins and passed them to her, snatching his ticket without a further word and boarding the 'train'.  
  
Draco couldn't see the point of the coins – they were ridiculous, muggles. He almost entered a deep conversation with himself about the complexities of economics, but he decided against it, as he really didn't see that it was a particularly interesting thing to think about at that time.  
  
Draco began to doubt the wisdom of bringing Benjamin along, as the drake tried on several occasions to peek out from under his cloak. (Which Draco was aware would result both in him having to preform memory charms (horrible boring, artless things) and explain to the school and his parents – well, father – what he had been doing in muggle London.)  
  
In fact, Draco was finding that the Malfoy charm was obsolete in the world of muggles – no-one recognised him as the son of, well, his father, and so treated him like they treated everyone else. So all Draco had to rely on was his charisma and, if he did say so himself (which he did) damn fine looks.   
  
A small child, about four, clambered onto the seat next to him (no regard for personal space), interrupting his meandering thoughts.  
  
"Why are you wearing funny clothes?" The child asked, and paused. "Are you a witch?"  
  
Draco twitched. "I am not a witch, thankyou very bloody much, and they aren't funny clothes. I think your clothes are stupid. And they make you look fat."  
  
The child's eyes teared over. "You're a meany."  
  
"Thankyou. It's what I do." Draco flicked his head, hoping to get his hair out of his eyes – it was really bloody annoying him. Benjamin saw the opportunity and stuck his head out of the collar of Draco's cloak.   
  
The child's eyes widened. "Is that a dragon?"  
  
Benjamin looked at the child, and sniffed at it inquisitively.  
  
"Benjamin! You're a prat!" Draco whispered sharply as he shoved the drake's head back into hiding.   
  
"Tell you what, kid, if you don't tell anyone about my buddy Benjamin here, I'll give you this." He held up a chocolate frog. The boy's little hands took the box, clutching it tightly. "What is it?" He whispered in awe.   
  
"It's a chocolate frog. But it's magic, so it'll jump around like a real frog for a while. It's also got a collecting card, and a box." Draco sighed, and got off the train, as it had stopped and he assumed that this was London (as a voice had announced it was a little while ago – Draco had almost thought the voice magical until he noticed the speaker in the ceiling).  
  
After making his way into daylight (bright, tacky, overdone – 'Makes me look pallid'' Draco thought after scrutinising his reflection in a shop window), and realised that he had no idea where, exactly, he was headed.  
  
It was time to call on his primary resource of navigation in unknown areas, he decided, and looked around for a suitable target.  
  
Giggling, that way. Right.  
  
He swaggered over to the group of girls (probably younger than him by two or so years), and stopped.  
  
Before he could open his mouth, the girls started laughing, one pointed at him and screeched "Where'd you get your clothes?"  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes, hexed them all (a nifty curse he'd developed himself that wrote "slut" in pimples across the target's forehead), and stormed off, muttering to himself.  
  
About 30 minutes later, Draco emerged from a muggle clothes store more appropriately attired (Dark blue "Jeans", a black shirt and an emerald green woollen jumper with a silver band around the shoulders), and $250 muggle dollars poorer. He'd also purchased a large backpack which now held his proper clothes and Benjamin.  
  
Feeling better equipped to deal with muggle girls (the very thought caused him to shudder), Draco looked around for a second target.   
  
Once again, it wasn't hard to find a group of girls that Draco deemed would be quite glad to give him directions to a music store. (Who wouldn't, he reckoned, Muggle London or not he was still Draco Malfoy.)  
  
This time, although garbled slightly with embarrassed giggling, Draco was successful in obtaining the information he wanted.  
  
The "Music store" was a highly elaborate affair, full of brightly coloured, unmoving posters and rows of shelves with what Draco assumed were C-something music thing cases, neatly arranged into categories and within those categories the C-something things were arranged in alphabetical order.  
  
'What had Dumbledore said the band was called? It was a colour. Of something. S. Silver something. He said it was rock. Something rock. Right. Rock. Rock and Roll. Rock… Rock…' Draco walked up the isles, searching.  
  
"Classical, no…"  
  
"R&B, what's that? No…"  
  
"Rap… No."  
  
"Pop. Hm. Looks mildly terrifying. No."  
  
"Jazz. Interesting. No…" Draco mumbled as he passed each section. Then, finally, he walked to the section which proudly proclaimed "Rock".  
  
The reading-of-names-searching-for-one-that-was-right resumed.  
  
"Silverchair. That looks right," Draco muttered after looking through about 12 band sections.  
  
He grabbed the four music-thing cases ("frogstomp, Freak Show, Neon Ballroom and Diorama"), and proudly placed them on the counter.  
  
The guy behind said counter raised a peirced eyebrow.   
  
"A bit of a 'chair fan, ay?" He drawled.  
  
Draco paused.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"D'you know about the concert that's in a few months, then?"  
  
Draco paused again. "No."  
  
"D'you want some tickets then, mate? We sell 'em here, they're going quick, too…" The guy seemed to be regarding Draco as a little slow.  
  
"Yea. In fact, I'll take two. Yeah. Two. So what does that come to?"  
  
"Uh… " He tapped something into this thing with letters and numbers on it, and scanned (or so Draco assumed) the music-things.  
  
"That's…. $220…" [A/N: Sorry.. I don't know what anythings worth in pounds. And ergo I can't convert price –things. So yeah. That's what it'd come to in Australia anywhoo]  
  
Draco rummaged around in the bag he was using to keep his muggle money in, and piled some coins and notes on the desk.  
  
"That enough?"  
  
"Uh… yeah. Definitely."  
  
"Super. Thanks." Draco grabbed his stuff and left the store.  
  
The guy chucked a bit of a skitz, saying something about $280 in change that he hadn't taken, but Draco didn't really care. He had to get rid of all of his muggle money anyway.  
  
On his way out, however, he noticed a poster labelled "Silverchair", so he grabbed it and left, figuring it couldn't possibly be worth $280….  
  
***  
  
Draco almost thought he'd gotten home free, sneaking across the Great Hall on the way to the Slytherin common room, when he heard McGonagal's voice echo across the hall.  
  
He groaned and turned to face her. (It's better to go into a battle headfirst)  
  
"Where have you been all day, young man?" The irate professor snarled.  
  
Draco muttered something about exercising his veto.  
  
"What was that, Malfoy?"  
  
"I was exercising my veto."  
  
"Do you want to appologise for using that tone with a teacher?"  
  
"Not particuarly, no."  
  
"I must say, master Malfoy, I often question the logic behind Severus choosing you as a prefect, if it were up to me… But, that's another matter. 20 points from Slytherin, and I'll be seeing you in detention tomorrow." She swept off, muttering to herself.  
  
Draco stared after her blankly for a few seconds, and strode off to the Slytherin common room.  
  
****  
  
[To be continued, and all that jazz.  
  
Oh, and by the way, all of you, any of you, that've actually been reading this since the start, feel more than welcome to flame me for my disgusting lack of updates.  
  
On another note, damn text formatting, damn it to hell. I'm just having faith that you'll all know which words are in italics.  
  
*shakes fist* It's all so much more simple in a world where HTML is HTML and italics is I ] 


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